


Lost Not Broken

by silvermoongirl10



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis Whump, Aramis just needs his brothers, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Nightmares of Savoy, POV Aramis, Pre-Series, Seemingly oblivious Porthos and Athos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvermoongirl10/pseuds/silvermoongirl10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Easter 1627, two years after the massacre at Savoy. Aramis is struggling with his memories and is shocked to discover that everyone has seemed to have forgotten about the massacre and their lost brothers. Even Athos and Porthos. Aramis feels left out and alone, do his best friends even consider him a friend now? He couldn't blame them, he couldn't even save one brother at Savoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Not Broken

It was the Easter of 1627, when people rejoiced as the bite of winter and the chill of spring began to fade away into a warmer spring. Aramis on the other hand was sat on his horse on his way back from guard duty at the palace lost in his thoughts. Two years. It had been two years since the massacre at Savoy, and he stared amazed as civilians and musketeers alike went about their business as if there was nothing wrong, as if twenty men hadn’t died in a snow-covered forest in Savoy two years ago. It wasn’t right.

He looked to his friends riding beside him, but seeing them in the midst of an easy conversation, seeing that they were not thinking of the lost men, it felt as if a knife had been plunged into his chest. They knew, Athos and Porthos knew what that night had done to him, how he hadn’t been the same since, even two years later. Yet they seemed to have forgotten all about it, despite not being present as the massacre happened, they had been there to care for him, looking after his wounds, soothing away the nightmares and forcing him back into the land of the living. So their apparent forgetfulness of the massacre hurt, they knew what that night had cost him, but it did not cross their minds.

The rest of the day he was lost somewhere between the past and the present, memories of that night would creep up and take hold and then fade away leaving him scanning his eyes in a panic around the garrison courtyard. Seeing his fellow musketeers all acting as usual, his brothers Athos and Porthos among them, was jarring. How could they all forget? The only one who looked as if his thoughts were in the same place as his own was Treville.

That evening Porthos and Athos tried to convince him to come to the tavern with them, he blankly refused. He did not see the worried look that passed between them; he just kept his eyes focused on the air between their shoulders. As much as he would love the distraction of the tavern, sitting there as everyone acted normal without even mentioning or toasting to their fallen comrades was not something he felt he could sit through. So instead, once Athos and Porthos had left, he made his way up to Treville’s office, and there, he and Treville sat together talking. Not talking about Savoy, but they would occasionally raise their glasses of wine to the air silently, no words were needed, as they toasted to the fallen men.

* * *

 

A few days had passed, with Aramis still feeling like he was trapped on the outside, looking in as all his comrades and friends carried on with their tasks. He couldn’t understand, did _no one_ care about those they had lost; it had only been _two years_ , not long enough to forget about those who were lost. Never before this had Aramis felt the burden of being the lone survivor of the massacre more keenly then now.

He sat in a chair beside a small rickety table that was tucked away in the corner of the courtyard; he cleaned his pistols, sword and dagger, watching as Athos and Porthos trained with Tristan. He knew he had brushed his friends off for two nights in a row after they asked him to go to the tavern, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t shocked to see them so easily cast him aside to train with Tristan.

So he remained in his chair until his weapons were clean, then staying within the corner, he practised sword movements. Alone. Every now and then he would cast his eyes over to his best friends, to see them training and talking with Tristan still. And so, he told himself that night he was going to go to the tavern, he had let Savoy bother him long enough this Easter. He told himself, he owed it to those lost to continue living and upholding what it meant to be a Musketeer.

So that evening he walked to their favoured tavern, pushing aside his memories of a snowy forest and put a small smile on his face. However, when he reached the tavern, he walked inside and heard Porthos’ distinctive laughter. There they were, Porthos, Tristan and even Athos who was not drinking alone that night. Porthos and Tristan were laughing and Athos’ mouth twitching into a small smile. Hurt blossomed in his chest and hastily he fled the tavern making for the garrison and his room where a bottle of wine sat. That night he drank alone in his room, his brothers’ laughter echoing in his ears mixing with the terrified shouts and pain filled screams of his brothers in the snow.

“Why am I here?” he asked aloud in a hoarse voice. “Why do I sit here alive? When it would’ve been better if I had never walked out of that forest.”

Of course there was no answer. There was no angry response from Porthos who would physically shake him and demand him to get those thoughts out of his head. Athos wasn’t there to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly and hand him a glass of wine. Just as they had done when he had muttered the same words a month after the massacre. Tonight when he uttered those words, he was alone.

He narrowed his eyes and glared into the half empty glass of wine clenched in his hand. “Well then, the lone survivor I am, and alone I shall be.”

* * *

 

It had been five days since that night. The night after Aramis’ resolve had weakened and he went to the tavern once more. The thought of being alone terrifying him. Yet again, however, he was met with the sight of Athos, Porthos and Tristan together. So Aramis had spent the past days sitting in his corner training on his own unless he was on duty at the palace, resigned to being alone. Seeing everyone going about their business, even Treville who he knew felt the loss of those fallen just as keenly as himself, made him feel broken. How could everyone picked themselves up and carry on, while he was left floundering in the dust?

He was on his way back from the palace again from guard duty, with Athos and Porthos. He rode silently, staring straight ahead, trying with all his might to block out the horrifying pictures of his fallen friends. He knew he looked tired, Treville had said so, but instead of asking Aramis about his nightmares, he just squeezed his shoulders and gave him the easy tasks of duty at the palace until everything was back to normal, knowing that Porthos and Athos were the only ones who could help with his nightmares. Aramis was grateful to his Captain, but his nightmares only continued. His friends weren’t there to help him, and they seemed so happy with Tristan, how could he ruin everything for them?

As they arrived at the garrison, he pulled himself from his thoughts to find the other two looking at him; he just raised an eyebrow in response.

“Looking a little lost in your thoughts there, you back with us?” grinned Porthos.

“I suppose,” Aramis commented matter of factly, before dismounting, Jacques took his horse from him leaving him bereft of something to do. He jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder; he twisted away and found Athos frowning at him.

“Is there something wrong?” asked Athos, not tearing his eyes away from Aramis.

Aramis shrugged and with a little bite to his voice said, “Why would there be anything wrong?”

As he went to walk away he heard Porthos call his name and the taller man’s arm latched onto his own. He was spun around to face Porthos, his friend’s eyes were full with concern and confusion, and he just stared back with blank eyes. “Come on, what’s the matter with you? Why can’t you just tell us what’s got you so troubled?”

“Well you haven’t been around much to _talk to_ ,” sniped Aramis, past the point of caring if he sounded like a whiny child, his frustration from the past few days building up inside him.

“We were only in the tavern with Tristan, you could have joined us,” stated Athos with a frown.

Aramis glared at the men in front of him, “You all looked so relaxed and cosy, why would I want to bother you with my troubled presence?”

“You came?” asked a confused Porthos, “Well why didn’t you stay?” There must have been something written on his face, because Porthos added. “We only wanted to cheer Tristan up. You know he and Philippe were best friends and well with you know…”

“Oh yes _I know_ Porthos,” spat Aramis, Porthos recoiled slightly, but still he held onto Aramis’ arm. “I could do nothing as Philippe was cut down in front of me. _I was_ _there_.” He yanked his arm from Porthos’ grip and stalked across the courtyard towards the stairs that led up to his room.

“Aramis!” called a startled Porthos,

Without turning back, Aramis snapped over his shoulder, “Just go and have fun with your new, best _non-broken_ friend.” He then stormed his way up the stairs and threw himself into his room.

Neither Athos nor Porthos came to talk to him, he didn’t know if he was grateful for that or disappointed. Some small part of him felt embarrassed with his outburst, thinking of how childish it must have looked. However, another part of him didn’t care, that part of him just wanted to hurt Athos and Porthos like they hurt him. Did they think that he didn’t want to join them in case Tristan told stories of Philippe? That wouldn’t matter to him, he loved to hear stories of the men who had been lost, it showed that they were still cared about, but Athos and Porthos knew that, so it couldn’t have been that. His heart sunk as he came to the conclusion that his so-called friends just didn’t think to talk to him, they invited him to the tavern twice, but that was it, they didn’t offer to train with him, they didn’t think to check in with him about his nightmares. _They just didn’t think_.

Sighing, Aramis got to his feet and made his way to the courtyard, there he saw Treville looking around thinking. He approached the Captain, who smiled at him.

“I am just trying to choose a man to collect an important letter for the King.”

“I’ll do it,” offered Aramis, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Treville raised an eyebrow, “You still look tired Aramis.”

“I just need a distraction,” he admitted.

Treville paused for a moment looking at him, and then he nodded, “Well pack your things you leave in half an hour and will be gone for two days.” Aramis nodded and eagerly bounded back up the stairs to his room to collect his things.

Half an hour later, Aramis mounted his horse, Fleur, with his rations and blankets and the name of the Duke, whose house he was going to. He looked over his shoulder to find Porthos and Athos talking with Tristan, his heart grew heavy. It seemed as if he had pushed his brothers away for good, so as he rode out of the garrison, it was with the thought. _Why would they want to be friends with someone who let twenty brothers be slaughtered in a forest?_

* * *

 

While the day’s ride to the Duke’s house was nice and easy, the return trip was not. On his return Aramis was ambushed by bandits, he managed to escape on Fleur, but not without suffering a wound on his left side. The further he travelled the more sluggish he became; he held his right hand over the wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding. He had to get the letter to Treville that was his only concern, he didn’t care what happened to him, but he had to complete his assignment. He would not fail Treville, not like his brothers in Savoy.

He looked up at the sky blearily, it was around midday, and the sun beat down on him but he didn’t feel the warmth. He felt sweat blossoming on his brow and the pain in his wound began to fade; telling him his condition had grown more serious. He didn’t dare get off Fleur to tend to his wound knowing full well if he did, he would never get back on.

With some pain he leaned forward and whispered to Fleur, “You need to get me back to Paris girl, I need you to help me in this.”

She nickered, seeming to understand her master’s plea, and so Fleur lengthened her stride and walked with haste, carrying her precious master home. It couldn’t have been more than an hour until the sight of the walls of Paris came into view, Aramis could have wept at the sight, but knew he could not waste the energy. He swayed dangerously and with his left hand he gripped tightly to the saddle, using the last of his energy to keep himself up right.

Fleur navigated her way through the clustered streets of Paris, nearly knocking over people walking across the road. Once the garrison came into view, Aramis’ shoulders slumped in relief; it was only the thought of handing the letter to Treville keeping him in the saddle and conscious. Fleur’s hooves clacked on the cobblestones and through the numb haze that had taken over, Aramis noticed Athos and Porthos were not waiting for him as normal, his shoulders slumped further and he almost toppled out of the saddle headfirst. It was Treville’s worried voice calling his name that had him sitting up once again. He didn’t see that Treville’s worried shout had hastily brought Athos and Porthos out of the armoury.

With a shaky hand Aramis pulled the letter out from under his leathers and reached down to hand it to Treville. Only leaning down caused a sharp pain in his wound and his head felt like it was spinning, and so Aramis felt himself fall from his saddle, reaching up to try and grasp the saddle only to miss. He came to a sudden stop as Treville caught him. He opened his eyes and saw he and Treville were on the floor.

“Sorry Captain,” he mumbled, his eyes already trying to slip closed again against his will.

“Nothing to be sorry for, son,” comforted Treville, before he handed the letter to another Musketeer to give to the King.

Aramis’ eyes snapped open as he felt himself lift up; he was too exhausted to register the embarrassment of being carried like a damsel by Treville to the infirmary. As he was carried through the courtyard, he caught sight of Athos and Porthos staring at him wide eyed with worry plastered across their faces. He tiredly met their gazes, before his eyes rolled back and his head hung limply.

* * *

 

When the darkness of unconsciousness faded, all Aramis could feel was burning heat and saw flashes of the massacre at Savoy, his brothers laughing with Tristan, the feeling of loneliness and the thought that he must be a disappointment to his friends for failing to save even one brother from Savoy.

A hand would occasionally come to rest of his head or run fingers through his hair and place something cool on his forehead.

He would twist and turn, with the shadows of his past at the forefront of his mind, he could not recognise friend from foe. He distantly heard voices talking to him, obviously trying to be comforting, but he could not hear them over the sounds of his nightmares. His memories of the massacre played over and over again in his mind, not letting him escape for a moment.

He did not know how long this continued; he just knew he was beyond exhausted. Somewhere he found the energy to mumble, trying, and begging the shadows, to leave him be.

“Make it stop… _please_ make it stop… I know I didn’t deserve to escape the forest…let it end…please let it end…let me join the brothers I could not save…”

Somewhere a desperate voice called for him to hold on, but Aramis was tired of his haunting memories, he just wanted to be left in peace. A hand clutched his own, he twitched his own fingers in an attempt to squeeze back, but he had no more energy, his flickered his eyelids trying to open his eyes to thank the people that had tried to help him, but he couldn’t do it, and then he fell into the blessed, comforting and peaceful darkness.

* * *

 

The next thing Aramis knew, he felt he was lying in a bed, no longer burning with heat and a dull throb in his side. He slowly opened his eyes to find both Porthos and Athos sat in chairs close to his side, both with their heads in their hands. His breathing must have changed, for both men’s heads shot up and came to rest their gazes on him.

He looked up at them in surprise, not expecting them to have been the voices comforting him through what must have been fever induced nightmares.

“Hey look whose back with us, about time, it’s been two days,” smiled Porthos. Looking as exhausted as Aramis felt, Aramis just stared up at him in surprise.

“No need to look so surprised,” commented Athos dryly.

Aramis licked his lips and tiredly asked, “What are you doing here?”

Porthos’ smile vanished to be replaced with a frown, “What’s that supposed to mean? Where else were we going to be with you at death’s door!” He shot to his feet and glared down at Aramis, “Not only that! We had to sit here and listen to you beg to join those who had been lost!” Here Porthos’ voice cracked, and with Athos’ gentle hand he sat back down heavily on his chair.

Aramis continued to lie there in shock, his muddled brain trying to understand that the friends, who he thought wanted nothing to do with him, had sat by his side for two days, nursing him through a fever. Which going by their exhausted states and the relieved looks on their faces, must have been one that easily could have taken him.

He startled a little when Athos’ hand rested on his arm. “Now don’t get lost in those thoughts of yours, you’ve been doing enough of that over the past couple weeks.”

Feeling that he owed his friends an explanation, in a hoarse voice he said. “I couldn’t get the memories out of my head.” Porthos looked down at him sadly and Athos’ face frowned. “Nightmares kept me awake, and seeing how everyone was acting as usual…I couldn’t understand it…there I was being consumed by my memories and everyone seeming to forget about Savoy.”

Here Porthos interrupted him, angrily shaking his head, “We could never forget! How could we forget the loss of twenty brothers and the fear that despite finding you alive, that you would perish anyway from hunger and a fever?” His eyes widened, looking hurt. “How could you think we would forget?”

Aramis stared up at him blankly, “No one said anything. I wasn’t expecting everyone to go into mourning again, but at least acknowledge that it had been two years! What else was I suppose to think?” He was working himself up and his breathing became harsher, Athos’ hand moved to his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

“Easy, just take it easy.” Aramis turned his eyes to Athos’ sorrow filled ones, “We owe you an apology,” commented Athos sadly. “We did nothing to help you, despite knowing that it was going to be hard for you and seeing you pull away from everyone. I promise we will always be there for you, I know we were lacking in that regard these two weeks, but I promise you now. That will not happen again.”

Porthos nodded, and then sternly added. “Besides, you are _not_ broken.” Aramis snapped his gaze up to meet Porthos’ remembering the angry words he had directed at Porthos. “You’re not broken, perhaps a little lost, but we’ll soon put that to rights.”

“Thank you,” murmured Aramis, his eyes slipping closed once more, a smile on his face. Knowing that with his brothers beside him, they would wake him if he had a nightmare, and soothe him afterwards. That was what brothers were for.

* * *

 

A month later everything was back to normal. Aramis would laugh and joke, would join his brothers in the tavern, and no longer felt alone or broken (a little lost in Porthos’ opinion). That night the regiment was celebrating the fifth anniversary of its formation. There was loud raucous laughter, with Treville even joining in on the celebration. When Treville began to make his traditional speech for the anniversary, he pulled Roland, Gilbert, Andre, Bayard, Aramis, Colan and Leon to stand beside him. They were what were left of the first men to join the regiment, the first to wear the blue capes and fleur de Lis on their shoulder guards. Treville made his speech on how proud he was with every man who had joined the regiment and even told humorous tales of the seven men as they adjusted to their new roles as Musketeers, to Aramis’ slight embarrassment Treville commented on how, at the age of twenty-two, Aramis was the youngest to join in 1622 and was very much the baby brother of the regiment. Aramis turned hearing Porthos’ loud laughter and asking for more tales involving Aramis. Treville grinned but did not embarrass Aramis further.

Instead, Treville patted Aramis on the shoulder and said, “I am so very glad you came to this regiment. Despite the countless headaches you cause me, but you are a great soldier and I am proud to be your Captain, and I am grateful that you still stand with us.”

Understanding that Treville was referring to Savoy and his injury and fever from the month before. Aramis smiled and replied, “You can’t get rid of me that easily Captain, as I have far more headaches yet to cause for you.”

Treville just rolled his eyes and then the party continued. Aramis wandered over to his brothers and shared laughs and jokes with them, seeing Porthos’ look sober and serious he looked at his friend questioningly.

“Like Treville said, I am beyond grateful that you are still here,” said Porthos, emotion filling his voice, as he held onto Aramis’ arm.

“I will always be here for you brother, just as you are for me,” smiled Aramis. “While alone we made be lost, together we are anything but.” Porthos’ wide grin returned and he loudly announced his agreement, before taking another drink.

Looking around at all the happy, cheerful and drunk faces of his comrades and brothers. Aramis knew that there would be hard times ahead, but they would all come through them together. As that is what Musketeers did, they never let a brother wander alone and lost for long, they were a family and they would always remain as such.

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> When trying to find a name for Aramis’ horse I just thought that he’d do something like name her after the Fleur de Lis, I don’t know why I thought that though. Anyway I hope you enjoyed reading this!


End file.
